A Traitor's Tale
by Knyghtmare
Summary: You saw Delia of Eldorne through Alanna's eyes--but what about Delia's point of view? This story is all about Delia, and how she came to be what she is.
1. Prologue: Diary Entry

Before you get any ideas, I just want to say that, no, I do not like Delia. I hate her in fact. But I want to write a fic no one has ever written before (at least I THINK no one has writing a Delia fic. I hope not!!! *gives out apologies ahead of time*), and it seemed to be that Delia would be a good person to write about. Basically this fic will be all about why Delia was so cruel, why she did the things she did. 

Disclaimer: I own no TP characters. 

Prologue: Diary Entry

Delia of Eldorne dipped her quill in the inkbottle, paused, and then wrote the last words in the thick book. Finally she sighed and smiled, closing the worn book cover over the fading ink writings. She had not thought she would ever be able to hold this diary in her hands again, much less write in it once more. A wry laugh escaped her lips; even now, years from Roger's final death, she had been able to squeeze out some of her old charm for Jon and get him to grant her request for her old diary back from her run-down home, an inkbottle, and a quill. Sunlight streamed in the dirty window in dim rays. Delia bit her lip, shuddering. This was the day. 

The day of her execution.

For a brief moment, she actually felt the slightest bit of guilt for what she did-did to that Alanna, Thom, King Jonathan, Alex.

Then that feeling passed, and when the guards came up to get her, she had her head high, and she was beautiful even in her ragged, smelly, filthy dress and in her old age. She held out the book, and one of the guards took it knowingly. It would be given to the king to read out loud to all who want to know the truth. 

Delia was led down the creaky steps, and finally out the door. The stark light struck her, and she cried out blindly, throwing her hand up before her eyes. It had been years since she was let out to the sun, and now that she was she wished she never had been now.

As the guards pulled on her chains up to the executioner's block, she forced herself to meet the cold blue eyes of her king-her ex-lover. Once filled with adoration, they now had an unfeeling indifference in them that chilled her and shook her to the bone. Then suddenly her eyes met purple ones; Alanna, the ugly whore. There was gray at the younger woman's temple, a web of it that stood stark against the brilliant red of the rest of her curls. On her left was her big-nosed husband and two gorgeous children-a tall man with bright red hair and another boy with red-gold hair. Wasn't there another one? A girl? Who knows.Standing on Alanna's other side was an unfamiliar woman with straight brown hair down to her shoulders, and green-hazel eyes set into an impassive face. She held a child of no more than one, with large blue eyes and black curls, and a handsome man next to her. Was this perhaps Alanna's successor, Keladry of Masbolle, her husband, and child? 

Bitch, Delia thought. Both of the knights. All of them! They put me here! It's their fault!

When her neck touched the executioner's block, she suddenly had the strange sensation that this was, perhaps, _her_ fault. Did _she_ put _herself_ here?

She decided to let the audience decide that when they read her diary just as the ax blade contacted her neck.

~*~

**Did you like it so far? Tell me what you think in your review (no flames, please). I know a lot of people coughmecough think that Delia's actions cannot be explained, but I want for people to see that maybe it wasn't _all_ Delia's fault, that maybe something had happened in her past. That's what this is all about. R/R!  **


	2. Running

Chapter One: Running

Delia of Eldorne sat on the swing in the abandoned play court, watching through the windows of her house the party for her sister Delilah's eighteenth birthday. She looked stunning, with her golden locks piled on her head and her blue eyes sparkling…

How Delia wished she could look like that—tall and willowy, blue-eyed and blond. Like Mommy. Both of them could wear rags and sleep in ashes and still look beautiful. Her older brother, fourteen-year-old Squire Lamont, took after both of his parents. He had large, sincere turquoise-green eyes and honey brown hair. He had a cleft in his chin and a strong, square jaw.

The youngest Eldorne took after the three children's father. Her thin, lank brown hair lay limp on her skeletal shoulders. The forest green dress she wore did not accentuate her small green eyes like it was supposed to; instead it hugged her bulky stomach and just showed the world how fat she really was. Unlike Delilah, her pale skin made her look sickly. Her nose disappeared between her freckled, bloated cheeks.

A tear streaked down Delia's cheek as she watched through a window Delilah dancing with her betrothed, Sir Chester of Dusty Ridge, looking up at him with love written in every perfectly sculpted feature—

Even Lamont, aloof as he was, was dancing with a young lady about his age, holding her close to him and resting his chin on her dark brown hair—

"I hate you," Delia choked, wiping another tear off her face. "I hate every last one of you!"

~*~

A couple days later at breakfast Lord Jethrin announced to his daughter that tomorrow a carriage would come by to pick her up and take her to a convent. Delilah smirked.

"I don't see why you should bother," she said smugly. "Nothing they do will turn that creature into a lady." 

"Shut up, you old hag," Lamont snapped. "The only reason you look like you do now is because of a convent. Mithros only _knows_ what you'd look like if you were never sent there!"

"Lamont, don't you ever speak to your sister that way!" Lady Fiona snapped.

"Stop defending her," Jethrin snarled. "Lamont is absolutely right!"

"Daddy," Delilah said, eyes tearing up. "How could you?"

Lamont childishly stuck his tongue out at her, therefore starting another argument. This one Delia quietly escaped by exiting and hurrying up to her room.

A convent. Delia threw herself on her bed and pouted. She should have seen it coming. What she really wanted to do—though she knew her parents would never let her—was become a knight. Not a lady. She remembered that some time last year she had told Lamont that. Instead of laughing, like she expected he would, he had actually thought about it. 

To her surprise he had said, "I'll be a knight when you become a squire…that means you can be _my_ squire!"

Delia smiled faintly. Lamont…her only true friend. He defended her from bullies, mostly the pretty children of dukes or barons or other lords, and most of all, defended her from Delilah. 

She lived in constant fear; fear that Lamont would be killed. If that happened, then she would have no one. Even the thought sent cold knives into her heart. 

_I don't want to become a lady_, Delia decided suddenly. _I guess that means I'll have to run away_.

She already knew talking to her parents was useless. The only way she could change their mind if she asked Lamont, Daddy's favorite, to do it. But even if he would there was no way she could get Delilah, Mommy's favorite, to do it, and since Daddy listened to everything Mommy said (except when it came to the only son) that was out of the question.

With renewed purpose Delia grabbed two or three dresses and stuffed them in a suitcase that Del had long ago. She slipped on her slippers and sat on her bed. Now that she was packed it seemed a little scary.

_And besides, I need food_.

From downstairs she heard Delilah screaming and heard a vase crash. _Never mind…the kitchen is past that room and I don't want to be seen…and since the servants don't like me I can't bribe them…_

Delia decided to just go ahead and run. After all she had money—the bulging purse in her suitcase confirmed that—she could just buy some at an inn or something. 

So Delia, coward as she was, picked up her suitcase, went down the stairs and out the door, unseen. 

Unknown to her, she had chosen the path that would, eventually, lead her toward her death.


End file.
